


if you're keeping your promise, i'm keeping mine

by brophigenia



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Begging, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Don't worry, Face Slapping, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, Joseph Kavinsky Lives, Like, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Prokopenko (Raven Cycle) Lives, but guess what, but not like formalized, filth filth, it was supposed to be a tender and sweet valentine's day fic, it's that good good, k the mob prince, kind of degredation? like lots of 'slut' talk, no infidelity, proko the hockey playing harvard student, sex tears, that did not happen, this is honestly just filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-29 23:13:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17817368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brophigenia/pseuds/brophigenia
Summary: “How many of those jock motherfuckers have you fucked?”(AKA, Proko goes to college, K is K, and they're reunited after several months apart. With sexy results.)





	if you're keeping your promise, i'm keeping mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Glitterghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitterghost/gifts).



> I am a pile of trashy filth. Happy fucking Valentine's Day, two days late. What the fuck. This was supposed to be SWEET. There was supposed to be like, rose petals and FANCY DINNERS and MATCHING WATCHES or some shit, I don't know. This is where I'm at. I live here now.

“How many of those jock motherfuckers have you fucked?” K  _ purred  _ it, the fingers of one hand tangled up in Proko’s hair while the other hand was busy gripping that pretty-boy cock, thick and pink and cut,  _ dripping.  _ Proko moved, restless, hips stirring and powerful thighs flexing. K shook him, just a bit. Enough to jar his teeth in his head. Rougher than other people might be. 

Proko liked it, though. Liked when K was rough with him. He could take it. He  _ liked _ taking it. 

“Huh?” He mumbled, and sucked on his own lower lip, unsettled as he tried to make K  _ move,  _ move his hand instead of just  _ holding,  _ keeping still and  _ waiting.  _

“I  _ said,” _ K enunciated, and he was all meanness, teeth so white, so perfect, so  _ sharp.  _ “How many of those jocks have you fucked since you left, huh? Five? Ten?” His eyes were dark, luminous— he looked like the devil. He looked so good. Proko was so hard. He wanted so much. 

He shook his head. “No.” He answered, and used all his weight to drop down onto K’s lap, grinding naked and lewd over his trouser-covered cock. K was still dressed— hadn’t done anything to be  _ un _ dressed except to discard his jacket and roll up the sleeves of his expensive oxford so he had room to work, baring the brand-like  _ K  _ tattooed into his inner left forearm. Proko had wanted to take the mark, too. Had begged and pleaded and did stupid, reckless shit to try and convince K to let him. 

He’d not even  _ wanted  _ to go to college. Not really. Anything they taught him there, he could learn on his own. It wasn’t even worth it for the hockey; he’d pick grinding it out on the streets making collections over grinding it out against the boards any day of the week, and K knew it well enough. It was because of K that he was even  _ at  _ Cambridge. K had been insistent, and he’d stood over Proko while he filled out all the applications, had dialed the fucking phone himself when it came time to accept offers. 

K had done all that, but now here he was, transferring his grip from Proko’s hair to his throat, shaking him again as he laughed, the sound dark, throaty. “No? Baby, I  _ know  _ that’s not true.” He practically  _ crooned  _ it, so sweet. Almost  _ understanding. _ Eyes on fire. Proko was shivering all over. It felt like too much. It felt like not enough. He wanted K to do something— beat his ass or fuck it,  _ something.  _ Anything would be better than this, strung tight as a bowstring with no relief in sight, trying to keep hold of the plot and not disappoint K with how stupid he was, how gone he was. 

_ Gagging  _ for it. 

“It is,” Proko tried to insist, whiny even to his own roaring ears. “It is, K, please. Please.”  _ Please fuck me,  _ he couldn’t make his mouth say.  _ Please make it hurt.  _

His abs contracted and his hips ground down and still K wouldn’t do anything, just kept his wrist limp and his grip unmoving. It was worse than anything had ever been. 

“Shhh, shhh,” K soothed him,  _ mocking,  _ like he wasn’t the one making Proko go out of his goddamn mind. Like he wasn’t the one who was responsible for the awful ache in Proko’s rapidly-blueing balls. Motherfucker. Proko adored him. 

K took his hand off of Proko’s cock entirely, settling it on his side over a half-healed bruise instead. Proko  _ loathed  _ him. 

“Fuck you—“ he spat, and tossed his head from one side to the other, practically choking himself from fighting K’s grip on his throat. K tightened his hand, spots starting to appear behind Proko’s eyelids. 

“Such a filthy fucking  _ mouth,  _ Ilya. What’re those Ivy League bitches gonna say?” K was a hellhound. He was Lucifer. He was a demon, and Proko gasped when he squeezed hard on the bruise under his palm. He’d taken a puck to the side in practice and it’d found the place right between his pads for maximum  _ oh shit  _ factor. Even the pain felt good, though, sharp and throbbing and all-encompassing. He could feel it in his fucking  _ molars.  _ He wanted K to squeeze harder. He wanted K to put him on his back and fuck him dry, if that’s what it fucking took. He wanted  _ anything.  _

_ Anything _ was better than  _ nothing.  _

“K, please,  _ please—“  _ he croaked. 

“It’s not fucking rocket science, babe.” K sneered, and dragged him close with the hand around his throat to smear a kiss over Proko’s open, panting mouth, lips to teeth. Proko’s head was spinning with it, the half of him that was  _ grateful and in love  _ warring with the half that was  _ greedy and furious. _ All of him was desperate. Both halves wanted to  _ come.  _ “You just gotta tell me. How many of those college boys’ve had you like this? How many of them fucked you?” 

Proko shouted when K punctuated the interrogation by using both his hands to press Proko further into his lap, rolling his hips so that Proko’s cock got some friction— chafing from his pants and sharp from his belt buckle, but friction nonetheless. Proko went cross-eyed with it for a long, stuttering moment, his brain going offline and his body  _ almost  _ overloaded enough to come, just like that. 

“Nobody, nobody, fuck!” He yelped, sobbing, shoulders curling in on themselves as he tried to curve his whole body around his dick, now red-purple and  _ hurting,  _ fuck. “I didn’t fuck anybody, K, I  _ swear—“ _

“Nobody?” Now K’s eyes were sharp, considering— what Proko could see of them through the tears welling up in his own, anyway. The world seemed close and blurry and wet, too big and too much. Even K seemed far away, even pressed all against him like he was. “I don’t believe you. You’re such a cockslut, baby. I know how you are. You love dick too much to keep your legs closed, huh?” K’s cheekbones were stained a hectic pink, flush with arousal. He was getting off on this. 

Still, Proko was determined. He shook his head, bounced a little on K’s lap, fighting his steely grip. K might’ve had a couple inches on him, but Proko was heavy with muscle that came straight from the rink and the weight room. Even delirious and with the disadvantage of leverage, he had the strength to manage a dirty sort of grind. 

“I don’t want college dick.” He contradicted, panting. “Just want yours.” 

K stopped, mouth a little open, expression a little raw. He swallowed thickly. Then he slapped Proko cleanly across the face, the ensuing  _ crack  _ loud enough to echo. Proko blinked at the far right wall and touched his tongue to the inside of his cheek, which was bleeding where he’d bitten down on it unexpectedly. The copper tang of it had his heart beating harder. 

“Get on your fucking knees,” K said, a little high-pitched, a little crackly, a little out of control. Proko scrambled to obey, the hardwood harsh on the already-bruised curves of both patellas. K dragged him in close with a renewed grip on the long hair at the top of Proko’s undercut, freeing his cock from the confines of his nice suit pants with the hand not tangled in the sweat-soaked strands. 

Proko opened his mouth and let K fuck right in, gagging on it, unused to the sensation after months spent away with nothing but his own fingers to stretch his lips wide. 

“Sloppy fucking  _ slut,”  _ K said, bordering on hysterical, overcome. His eyes were shadowed dark underneath and his hands shook and he looked down at Proko like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Fucking  _ gagging  _ for it, and you want me to believe— to believe— fuck,  _ Ilyusha—“ _ K swore, vehement and lost all at once, coming like he was startled by it. 

Proko petted gently over the clothed insides of K’s trembling thighs, taking advantage of his weakened grip to bury his face further into K’s lap, taking his softening cock deeper into his mouth, nose buried in the dark curls around its base. The need to come was still urgent, but it had become background static to the pleasure that came from being the one who made K fall to pieces. 

K tugged him off and up with kitten-weak hands, more suggestion than command, and when he pressed his face into Proko’s neck his eyes were wet, his breaths coming ragged. He curled his fingers around Proko’s cock and didn’t protest when Proko’s hand wrapped around his, tightening his clumsy strokes and speeding them up, Proko’s hips rolling and his core wound tight. 

“M’not a slut for anybody but you,” Proko said, head thrown back, staring up at the ceiling. “Just you, K.” 

K nodded into the crook of his neck, bit down on the thin skin there. He soothed it with a barely-there kiss, so tender, and Proko shuddered with it, coming all over K’s good clothes, his wrinkled black Oxford and unzipped trousers. 

They panted together for a few minutes, Dreamer and Dream, so close they were almost one being again. 

“I haven’t fucked anybody else.” Proko said finally, once his heart rate slowed down enough that he was confident he wasn’t going to have a stroke. “I promise.” 

K groaned, letting his head fall back to rest on the back of the couch, and brought his hands up so he could press the heels of them into his eyes. He looked tired, and thin. The  _ K  _ tattooed on his arm looked too dark, like it absorbed all the light in the room. Something knotted up in Proko’s gut, unhappy and cold. 

“I know, babe.” K said, almost an apology. “Fuck, I—“ he cut himself off and swallowed, shaking his head a little. He exhaled, hard, and when he took his hands from his eyes there was the old devil-may-care mask, sharp and amused and fake. “Like any of those Harvard boys could do you right.” He laughed, the sound like breaking glass. 

“K—“ he tried. K shook his head once, eyes a warning, and then he was rolling Proko off of him, rising up and wandering over to the well-stocked liquor cart, pouring a few fingers of vodka into a faceted glass. 

“When do you have to go back?” He asked, voice flat. 

Proko sighed. “My train’s out at 11.” He replied, and winced as he stood, rolling the tightness out of his shoulders. He’d be hurting by the morning, practice bright and early.

K didn’t respond, and instead crossed over to the wall of windows overlooking the city, face impassive as he drank. 

Proko hated it. Hated the way he could see K’s father in the straight line of his shoulders, the clench of his jaw. 

“Let’s sleep for a couple hours,” he proposed as he came up behind K, wrapping his arms around K’s waist and pressing a kiss to his nape. “Know you’re tired.” 

K leaned back against him, closing his eyes briefly. “Yeah, okay.” He conceded, nodding. “Just for a bit.” 

It wasn’t enough. But it would do, for now. 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @ brophigenia.tumblr.com


End file.
